The Lost Son
by KatieH42
Summary: While Nightwing tries desperately to save Bludhaven after the nuclear attack, Bruce is frantic to find his son.
1. The Search

Bruce spent years training to control himself, every single part of himself, his thoughts, his body, his heart. He'd learned to control how fast it beat, and up until a few moments ago, he'd almost never failed. Until that moment.

Until that moment when he'd seen the blast and the only thing he'd been able to think was "Dick!" Even now, half way to Bludhaven he couldn't convince his heart to slow down, it was pounding so fast he felt sick. If Dick died because Jason had kept him from getting there, but he couldn't finish that thought. He was shaking too hard as it was, if it got any worse he'd probably drive off the road.

"No," he snarled, clenching his teeth. He was the Batman, nothing ever stopped him from doing his job. There would be no driving the Batmobile off the road. He would get his emotions under control or he wouldn't be able to help the boy at all.

Yes, in his head, Dick was still a boy. Bruce didn't spend a lot of time in his head, thinking about Dick, it was too much of an emotional minefield that he wanted to avoid that but somehow, without meaning to he was already right in the middle of it and there he was, calling Dick "boy".

His hand's clenched around the wheel. He couldn't push the gas pedal harder without pushing his foot through the floor. It was reckless, it was dangerous, he wasn't paying attention to the curves and twists in the road and heaven help anyone rodent or absent minded pedestrian who strayed into into his path.

Dick would be doing something incredibly stupid right now, Bruce knew it. Maybe that was his own fault.

No, there was no maybe. He had taken a child who was smart and kind and brave and had striped him down into a weapon, more concerned about his mission than his own life. When Dick died, it would be Bruce's fault.

Could he survive burying another son?

Could he survive burying Dick?

"Focus Bruce," he muttered to himself when he realized that he was almost in Bludhaven and hadn't noticed. God, he was loosing time now. How was he ever going to find Dick like this? He needed to get himself under control right now or the boy was going to die.

There was someone in the road. He slammed on the breaks as hard as he could. It was a young woman, she looked at him with terror written all over her face. She was carrying a backpack and crying. She was fleeing the city, Bruce realized. Once she was out of the way he stamped on the gas petal again, but he'd only gone a few hundred yards before he had to stop for a family, complete with a dog running down the road and a hundred yards after that there was a group of men, barely older than Dick. He was never going to get into the city like this. Not even close.

"Alfred," he asked. "Where's the nearest base from here? I need a motorcycle."

"Master Richard has one about ten miles east of your current location. I believe he has it secured for himself only, but I assume you could bypass his security."

"Yes," Bruce agreed as he forced the car off the road and through what was once a nice, white picket fence.

"Do you have Master Richard with you Master Bruce?" Alfred asked anxiously.

"No Alfred," Bruce answered. "I'm looking for him now but I can't get into the city in the Batmobile. It's taking too long. At this rate Dick'll get himself killed before I'm even in get in the city limits." The moment the words were out of his mouth, he regretted it. If Alfred was worrying himself sick, casually throwing in his fears was hardly going to help. "Have you been able to reach him?"

"No," Alfred said. "I can't get in touch with him on any frequency you have ever used. All I get is static."

"That's not surprising," Bruce said as reassuringly as he could. "With radiation levels like that, communication will be practically impossible. That means you probably won't hear from me either, once I get in the city but I'll let you know as soon as I find him."

"Please do," Alfred agreed. Bruce could hear Alfred's tone, and it twisted his guts.

The base was well hidden of course, as he'd expect from Dick, in an old industrial complex just outside the city. It was dilapidated, vandalized and barely structurally sound, but even so the parking lot was full of refugees, streaming out the city, some of them in cars but most people on foot. They were going to make it very difficult to get into Dick's base.

Knowing Dick, he would have hid his equipment high up, so he could enter through a skylight or a window, not stairs like a normal person. That might have been subtle for someone on foot, or even on a bike, but he was in a car crossed with a tank. There was no way to sneak around.

Despite the crowds he got the car in very close to the building and was out of it and onto the roof before the anyone could stop him. Some of them shouted at him, calling out to him, speaking his name like he was a god coming to save them, but he wasn't. All he was that night was a father who had completely failed his son.

He did have to hack his way around Dick's security, every second of it was basically torture but he managed at last, despite his hands shaking so much he almost missed a few keys. He didn't even look around once he was in, just went straight to the bike, which Dick had lovingly displayed in the middle of the space. Bruce wasn't sure how Dick was getting out, but there was a boarded up window at one end of the large room. Dick might be pissed off at him later, but only if he was alive to see it so Bruce planted a charge, set it with a ten second delay and took off through the plywood.

It was a two story drop but the second he hit the ground Bruce was too focused to worry any more.

The city was smoking, it smelled of burning rubber and toxic fumes and meat, there wasn't more than a block in a row that didn't have rubble in it. The further into the city he got the few people he passed, the smaller the crowds became and the higher the stacks of bodies got. He would never find Dick in all of them.

Nightwing would have gone to the police station, Bruce assumed. He still had friends there, friends who would be in danger. Downtown, near the main blast. The radiation alone would probably kill a healthy person, although presumably Dick would have anti-radiation meds with him and an air filter so he could still be alive.

"Batman," someone said quietly.

"Damnit Clark," he snarled, breaking the bike so hard if he'd been any less practised he'd have flipped off. "What do you want?"

Superman was standing next to him and he looked beat. It wasn't often that Kal-El looked sick and tired, and although it did give Bruce a sliver of cruel satisfaction, it worried him much more.

"You're the second person I've ordered out of the city today Bruce," he said, taking a few steps closer so that no one in the dead street could hear him. As far as Bruce could see, there was nothing alive for blocks and blocks but if Superman was going to use his name, he wasn't going to complain.

"You've seen Dick," Bruce demanded. "Where? Where is he?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "I told him to stay out of here, I told him it'd kill him to go back into the city, but I don't think he listened."

"Obviously not," Bruce hissed at him. "Where did you see him last?"

"The radiation can kill you too Bruce," Clark pointed out. "Get out of the city."

"I'm not leaving without him Superman," Bruce growled. "Either point me in the right direction or get out of the way. Where is my son?"

"When I saw him last he was jumping off police head quarters about an hour ago. I left him there. Good luck, Bruce. Once I finish with the city, I'll join you."

"Fine," Bruce answered.

"Take care," Superman said to him quietly as Bruce sped away.

An hour ago, Dick had been alive. The radiation still could have killed him, but he had been alive less than an hour ago. Bruce pulled on a mask. The toxic smell of the city had settled in his stomach like a poison. Or maybe it was worry, he didn't know. Either way, he couldn't risk vomiting, he didn't have the time.

Once when Dick was very young they'd been out chasing down some human traffickers, who happened to have a rocket launcher with them. The Batmobile was damaged. Bruce had hidden it in one of his safe houses, but by then it was almost five in the morning and Dick could barely hold his head up. He'd looked so young, in his yellow cape and those ridiculous boots with his eyes half shut and his head leaned back against a wall as he tried so hard to stay awake. If he'd been alone, Bruce would just have made whatever repairs he could but seeing his boy like that, he couldn't. He'd picked Dick up and set him on the front of the motorcycle. When the boy started shivering, Bruce pressed him up against his chest, miraculously keeping the bike upright as he tucked the ten year old in with one arm.

He swerved to avoid a car that was forcing it's way through the debris.

"Batman!" someone was screaming. "Batman!"

He spun the bike around without really wanting to but Clark was too far away to help those people. It was a red headed woman who was shouting at him as she ran towards him, holding something over her mouth. "Batman," she rasped. "Nightwing's gone after Westbrooke but I'm worried. I don't think he can keep going like this. Please, he saved my family."

"Where?" Bruce asked.

"Do you know the Lakeview apartment tower?" Bruce nodded.

"Get your family to safety," he ordered.

He could see the tower from where he was, it was no more than fifteen blocks. He was almost there. He would save his son and "he's alive," he snarled at the voice in the back of his head that whispered Dick might already be dead. "He's alive."

Bruce could see the parking lot for the tower, he was almost there, he almost let himself hope. He would get there in time, Dick would be alive, sick of course, probably too sick to object if Bruce forced him to come back to the Batcave, back to Alfred, back home for a few days. They needed to talk. The boy had been reckless lately. He'd always been driven but never suicidal before now. That business with Blockbuster must had messed with his head more than Bruce had realized. He would set Dick straight, and things would get better. By the time Dick was on his feet again they would have sorted a few things out.

And then an explosion ripped through the tower.

Bruce didn't hear himself screaming, but he could feel it.


	2. The Rescue

**So I know this is the second chapter this weekend, but I don't want anyone to get their hopes up about how quickly I can get this written okay? I can't promise it'll ever happen again :P Sorry. **

Bruce almost fell off the motorcycle in a way that was incredibly unBatman like but he didn't care. That explosion ripped through the apartment tower and until the smoke cleared he didn't breathe or see. He charged at the building blindly and after about fifteen strides he realized how stupid that was. Dick could be in that smoke and he'd run right past him. But if the boy was still in the building now he probably wouldn't be able to get himself out.

Although the firefighters were probably cursing the wind that was blowing in from the water, Bruce had never been more grateful for a weather pattern in his whole life. The smoke cleared in a few minutes. By the time he found the front door he could see the top of the building over his head, or what was left of it. The blast had been about halfway up. If Dick was in the lower half, he was alive. If he was in the top half, his chances were much worse.

And knowing his son, he was in the top half.

The blast, or some blast had ripped the doors off, the front one and the door to the stair well as well.

The lower levels were relatively undamaged. Some of the beams had collapsed but lots of the apartments were still recognizable as homes, as places where people lived with their family, where people had been happy, where they'd tucked their children in at night but the higher up he got, the less that stayed true. He was kicking rubble out of the way and coughing by the time he got to the tenth floor. A door had collapsed across the exit but Bruce smashed his way through it without thinking.

Most of that floor was just a mess of boards and beams and stone, there was nothing standing but a few door frames, the outside walls and a bit of the ceiling. Bruce wasn't sure that the next floor up would support him. If it couldn't and Dick was up there then they were both as good as dead. If not, Bruce as no closer to find the boy than he had been an hour ago. He took a step towards the stairs when he heard someone muttering something.

He knew it was Dick.

"...been enough..."

It took him forty five seconds to get through the smoke and the rubble to Dick's side. "What son?" he asked quietly, kneeling down next to the boy's head. Dick didn't answer. He didn't move at all and for a moment Bruce's heart almost stopped. He couldn't find Dick's pulse with his gloves on and for a moment, he thought Dick had died. Frantically he tore his glove off and pressed it against Dick's throat. He was still breathing, his heart was still beating, although very weakly.

"Oh thank god," he exhaled. "Nightwing?" he asked softly, slowly brushing Dick's face with his bare hand. "Dick? Can you hear me?" but the boy didn't open his eyes or move. He sighed. "Never mind."

Where was Superman when he actually needed him?

"Stay unconscious Dick," he said gently. "This isn't going to be comfortable for you."

Dick was half buried in what looked like a door and part of a door frame. He must have been going through one when the explosion happened. It was practically a miracle that Dick hadn't been killed immediately. Bruce cleared it away quickly and carefully looked the boy over for injuries. He was burned seriously all along his face and chest and there was blood on his mouth, in his hair and from a few minor shrapnel wounds in his chest and legs. But it didn't look like he had any internal injuries or spinal damage.

Bruce slipped his arms under the boy's shoulders and knees, shifting Dick closer to him. The boy hung limply in his arms. When he stood up Dick moaned a little, whimpered but didn't wake up. It was amazing how much Dick had grown but still felt like child in his arms. Every step was slow, careful, he didn't want to stumble because every movement was hurting the boy who was almost panting in his arms.

They were half way down when the eleventh floor finally gave out. Bruce flung himself into the closest door frame and curled his shoulders around Dick as the building shuttered and a cloud of smoke and dust rose around them. Dick's cough was pathetic, pitiful, like he was too weak to clear this lungs out properly. Bruce grit his teeth. His poor, poor boy. His arms tightened around Dick's shoulders without him meaning for them to.

The building rocked a little. Bruce snarled at it, and started to walk faster. Dick sobbed but being slow and careful wasn't an option any more either, so Bruce did his best to ignore that. It was remarkable difficult, not to hear his son in pain.

"How am I going to get you home Dick?" he muttered when as he strode towards the bike. "You're a little big to ride on this motorcycle with me these days."

Dick was shuttering, Bruce wasn't sure if it was from a fever or not, but it was unbearable. He was whimpering, almost crying as he shivered. Bruce was aware of the affects of radiation, but he couldn't think of them at that moment. All he could think of was his son, in his arms, clearly in pain.

"All right Dick," he said. "Here."

He pulled off his cape and wrapped the younger man in it. "We'll be home soon Dick," he muttered as he awkwardly positioned Dick on the front of the motorcycle. "It's a good thing you're not as tall as I am," he muttered. Dick's head dropped to his chest as Bruce climbed on behind him and managed to wedge Dick between his arms. They wouldn't be travelling half as fast as Bruce wanted to, but until they got back to the Batmodile, he didn't see any other choice.

They moved faster leaving the city than Bruce had been able to coming in. The streets were completely empty now. For almost thirty blocks Bruce didn't see another living soul, just burned out bodies as he wove through abandoned cars and chunks of buildings. It was eery, disconcerting to think of a place that had been alive and vibrant just a day ago. That his son had been like that too, a day ago.

But maybe Bruce was wrong. Dick hadn't been right for a long time. This had just made it worse.

Eventually Bruce found the emergency workers, the firefighters, the police. He should have stopped to help them,but Dick might not have that much time, so he slowed down but crossed through their lines. They had Superman anyway. They would be all right.

The refugees were being rounded up and herded to camps around the edge of the city and lined up for buses to Gotham and other nearby cities. The army was just arriving as Bruce left the city. Helicopters roared overhead as the world finally came to Bludhaven's aid.

Bruce pulled the motorcycle up next to the Batmodile and gently lifted Dick off of it, still wrapped in his cape and settled him in the passenger seat. "It's going to be all right Dick," Bruce muttered to him as he pulled the Kevlar, probably the least comforting fabric in history, higher around Dick's neck. Dick mumbled something sleepily at him, but Bruce didn't understand what he'd said. "I'll be right back."

Bruce rammed the bike into the wall as hard as he could, flipping off of it at the last possible second in a way that would seriously have impressed Dick, if he'd been awake to see it. At this point, he owed Dick one base and one bike but he'd replace them if the boy would just recover.

"We're going home now," Bruce informed Dick.

The Batmobile was so much faster, and Dick looked much safer there in the front seat than he had teetering on the front of the bike. Bruce relaxed a little for the first time in hours.

Next to him Dick convulsed a little. Bruce's hand shot out to turn the boy over onto his side. Vomit dripped out of his mouth. "Dick I'm so sorry," Bruce muttered to him as he held Dick's whole head in his hand. Dick heaved a few more times and then went still again but Bruce didn't let go until he was sure Dick wasn't choking on anything. "You'll be home soon," he promised.

He knew that Dick couldn't hear him but he had to say it anyway. He had to hope that Dick knew he was safe, that he was with people who loved him. His son would be safe. His son would get better.

"Alfred?" he asked, as the city and it's smoke disappeared behind him.

"Master Bruce? Are you all right? Is Master Richard?"

"He's alive," Bruce said shortly. "But not doing well. Be ready for us."

"I will be," Alfred promised. "Well done. Both of you."

Bruce knew the Batcave was only an hour or so away at the speed he was going, it felt like the longest sixty miles he'd ever driven.


	3. The Recovery

**So I haven't actually read all of the stories around Blockbuster and Chemo yet (life is always getting in the way of comic books :P) so if I get something wrong, let me know. I might not change this story, but I'd like to read cannon at the very least :P **

Dick was mumbling furiously, frantically by the time they arrived at the Batcave. Bruce would have almost preferred him throwing up to these heartbreakingly weak cries. Whatever he was seeing behind his eyelids it was torture. The poor kid was unconscious, he shouldn't have nightmares when he wasn't even asleep. "Dick," Bruce begged him desperately as he pulled the car to a stop. "Dick wake up." But he didn't. He didn't even move, other than to whimper.

"Alfred!" he roared as he jumped out the car and tore around it. His heart was beating wildly, erratically, he wasn't even trying to get it under control but it slowed a beat or two when Dick was back in his arms. His son struggles were so pathetic it frightened him. "Alfred please," he groaned, holding Dick out towards the older man who was hurrying towards them both, his own face ash white.

"Bring him up," Alfred ordered.

"He's been throwing up for the last hour," Bruce said worriedly as he felt his boy's stomach muscles tensing.

"Radiation poisoning," Alfred said. "He is in for a very unpleasant few days, but if we can keep him hydrated he'll be all right. Have you checked him over for other injuries?"

"Some head trauma," Bruce explained, surprised to find his tongue sticking in his mouth. He swallowed. "A few lacerations in his arms and chest but other than that, I think he's okay."

"Good," Alfred said. "Then we were lucky."

Bruce lay him down carefully on the table, trying to do it as quickly as possible but also pressing his body close to Dick for as long as he could. When the only thing left to do was set the boy's head down, Bruce regretted it. His stomach lurched nervously as he step away, or maybe it was the whole world, it was hard for him to tell.

Feeling sick Bruce backed up and let Alfred sweep in. He might have moved like a professional, steady handed and straight faced, but Bruce would see he was frightened too – pale, with his lips pressed too tightly together. Weirdly that was comforting to him, that he wasn't the only one so terrified he felt ill.

Minutes passed, or maybe they were hours, Bruce was having trouble keeping track of time. Alfred moved around Dick so naturally, with a kind of practised familiarity, an intimate knowledge of the boy he'd raised. Whatever Alfred was doing, it wasn't quieting the boy fast enough for Bruce. He lurched forward when Alfred had stepped away to wash his hands and laid a hand on Dick's forehead. The fever was lower now, Dick's skin felt the same temperature as Bruce's.

Where had he left his gloves?

"Master Bruce," Alfred said softly behind him. "Are you quite well?"

"Yes," he growled even though his stomach was now thrashing around wildly inside him. When he was reasonably sure Alfred wasn't watching he pressed both his hands around his guts uncomfortably.

It was hot in the Cave, which was unusual. Bruce kept it cool so it was comfortable to wear his costume but he felt like sweat was dripping off of him. He'd lost his mask somewhere else, which wasn't like him. The mask wasn't really a mask, he never just casually dropped it anyway. Dick might do that with his but Dick Grayson and Nightwing were almost the same person. He needed to go and find that mask, but when he took a step away from his son it felt like a vice grip was crushing his heart, and leaving him breathless.

How was it that this never got easier? He wondered to himself as he leaned back against the wall behind him. It wasn't the first time he'd paced around the Cave half Batman, half Bruce Wayne and watched Alfred tending to one of his sons, to this one son. His eldest. He had been through this hell a dozen times and yet this time felt no easier than the last. That didn't seem fair.

Alfred had stopped moving for a moment and was standing close to Dick's head, gently gathering up the boy's hair, which was too long, as usual, and mouthing words too softly for Bruce to hear. He could have read Alfred's lips, but his vision was pulsing too bright, too dark, too bright, too dark. Whatever those words were, they were meant for Dick anyway. He didn't really have the right to them.

Jealousy wasn't something Bruce experienced often, but there was something about the way Alfred had been able to love the boy that pinched at Bruce's heart. Dick never doubted that Alfred cared about him. But Bruce was willing to bet most of his money that Dick didn't feel the same

away about him.

His stomach flung itself up towards the back of his throat. Bruce took a few steps closer to the sink, groaned, curled up and vomited into it. By the time he'd spit a few times and caught his breath there was more bile climbing up into his mouth.

"Master Bruce!" Alfred said worriedly, setting a hand on Bruce's shoulder.

"Leave me alone," Bruce spat at him. "Dick."

"Sir," Alfred wheedled. "You are just as susceptible to radiation poisoning as Master Richard." Bruce sighed, or tried to sigh while gagging, which mostly just hurt. His knees felt like they were knocking together and he would have sworn the world around him was melting but he levelled his tone.

"Not the first time I've had radiation poisoning, won't be the last," he ground out between his teeth. "I'll be okay if he will be."

"Very well," Alfred agreed reluctantly.

The next few hours were hard for Bruce to piece together. He remembered it being miserable, draping himself over the sink and being slammed with physical discomfort as the radiation worked its way through him and overwhelming concern for Dick who he knew was experiencing the same thing on a much more serious scale. At some point during the night he must have sank to the floor. He woke up there, one arm very numb because he'd left his hand griping the edge of the sink somewhere above him.

"Alfred?" he croaked as he rose slowly to spit into the sink a few times. "How's Dick?"

"Probably feeling a great deal better than you," Alfred said. "He'll live, although he's very weak and he'll be in and out for the next few days I imagine." As though Dick heard them he thrashed a little, whimpering and straining against his sheets. "He's been like that for hours," Alfred said softly. "I don't want to give him more pain medication or sedatives at the moment either, given his current condition."

Bruce closed the distance between them in a few strides, but even that exertion left him feeling breathless. He was much weaker than he'd realized.

"Son?" he asked gently, setting his hand on Dick's hair, afraid that his own fever would bring Dick more discomfort if he put his hand on the boy's skin. "Son what do you see?" But Dick didn't wake up, just went still.

"Sir, his condition is stable," Alfred said quietly. "Far be it from me to advise you on such trivial things as your health, but might I suggest to take this time to rest. I promise to fetch you if anything about Master Richard's condition changes."

"I should go back to Bludhaven," Bruce said.

"It's almost noon now sir," Alfred said. "Surely you will be waiting for sundown, which gives you several hours of sleep if you go now."

Sleep was desperately appealing and given that he'd been winded crossing the Cave, it wouldn't be safe for him to be out on the streets anyway. Still Bruce was reluctant to leave the Cave, to leave Dick, to leave this case. Alfred didn't say anything of course, just waited patiently behind him but Bruce could feel eyes boring holes in his back, which ached.

Actually all of him ached.

He did need to rest.

"Batman," Dick begged. "You still? Don't you? I'm sorry."

"Dick?" Bruce asked urgently but he didn't open his eyes, just tossed his head back and forth agitatedly. "Dick, I'm right here. Settle down son."

"Sorry," he whimpered.

"He's been apologizing all right," Alfred said heavily. "To you, to me, to the Teen Titans, even to his parents. Whatever has happened, he blames himself for it."

"How could the bomb possibly be his fault?" Bruce asked but of course, he knew the answer. Even if Dick hadn't planted the charges, he hadn't gotten there fast enough to disarm them either. It wasn't his fault, but he could blame himself for it anyway. Alfred must have read his mind, because he didn't say anything, just raised an eyebrow quizzically.

"Everything's bad," Dick moaned. "Blockbuster."

"Shh, son," Bruce said quietly, as he frowned. He'd known that Blockbuster's death had something to do with Nightwing but he hadn't looked into the details. Why was his son thinking about a dead villain now? Why had his son gone to that particular apartment building for a man named Westbrooke? All questions he'd need to answer. But not just then. "Rest easy Dick," he said quietly. "You're safe now." He turned to Alfred. "I'm going to bed for a while," he said, watching Alfred's carefully schooled expression. "Wake me up if anything changes."

"Of course sir," Alfred agreed.

Bruce glared, but he had to admit, even if it was only to himself, that it wasn't one of his best.


	4. The Questions

**Sorry I'm slow. Not only am I generally a busy person, my internet's been the worst (I hate Rogers! Also Bell). I will try to be a little speeder. But of course, I make no promises.**

Bruce woke up slowly, his head hammering and his vision stubbornly blurry, no matter how many times he tried to blink the sleep out. His stomach was uneasy too and his sheets felt damp. He didn't remember the rest of the day after he'd dragged himself up the stairs to his bedroom, but if how he was feeling now was any indication, it had been a rough night.

Dick's would have been much worse.

He threw off the sheet which was all he'd managed to keep overnight only to find that his feet were so tangled in them he couldn't have stood up at all. His fingers were thick and useless, he couldn't seem to claw his feet free and he snarled at the cloth. He normally would just have ripped off. He wasn't strong enough that morning.

Of course he managed it eventually and the effort left him exhausted.

"Dick," he muttered to himself as he pushed off the bed and stumbled towards the stairs.

Alfred was sitting next to Dick in a chair, leaning his head against his hand, fast asleep. Bruce wanted to smile at the sight of his old friend next to his son, but he wasn't sure he could manage the expression without throwing up more, so he kept his face blank. Normally he could sneak around without disturbing Alfred at all, but his first few steps were loud and clumsy. Alfred lifted his head up.

"Master Bruce," he said, looking Bruce over slowly and carefully.

"How is he?"

"All right," Alfred said, standing up. He looked like he was stiff and Bruce felt vaguely guilty that he'd left the older man to stay up with Dick all day. "He's still very restless, but showing no signs of infection in his wounds. Of course, the radiation poisoning is still making him very ill but I expect he'll survive. How are you feeling?" Bruce didn't answer. Alfred raised an eyebrow and made it quite clear, somehow with just one look, that not saying anything wasn't an appropriate answer.

"Not dead," he muttered.

"I suspected as much," Alfred said. "Would you mind sitting with him for a few minutes while I prepare you something?"

Bruce was sure he could feel his face turning green at the thought of food. Without meaning to the back of his his hand brushed against this mouth. "Alfred I can't eat right now," he mumbled.

"I'm afraid you must," he said. "Not eating will not make you feel any better."

"Couldn't make me feel worse," he answered weakly.

"It could, and you know it," Alfred said firmly. "Now stay with Master Richard for a few minutes and thank God that he's still out, or he'd be feeling worse than you."

Bruce was grateful for that. He'd been in the city for little over an hour and he almost wished he was dead, he couldn't imagine how much worse Dick would feel after several hours of that. "Dick?" he said softly, resting his hand next to his son's. Dick didn't move or say anything.

He watched the boy toss his head miserably once or twice and whimper, but whatever he was saying, it was too quiet for Bruce to understand. What had happened it was more complicated than the single nuclear blast. Something else was troubling his boy, something to do with Blockbuster. Bruce sighed. Why was it always so difficult? Why couldn't he simply take care of his boy and leave the questions until Dick was on his feet again? Why didn't it ever end? He just wanted his son back, not another mystery on his hands. He didn't say anything, mostly because he was reasonable convinced that Dick wouldn't hear him anyway and his own eyes were so heavy. He didn't mean to doze off.

"Master Bruce," Alfred said softly to him. He lifted his head up slowly and rubbed the back of his neck slowly. "I know you don't feel like eating anything, but I've brought you a tray."

"Put it by the computer," Bruce said miserably. "I'll try."

Alfred nodded and disappeared. "I'll be just there Dick," he whispered. "Right there."

The walk over to the computer was draining but it did feel worth it to see the tray that Alfred had left for him. Ginger tea, which he didn't usually like but he had to admit, would probably help his squirming gut. A few pills that he took without hesitation. A bowl of thin broth, which he was only about fifty percent sure he could keep down.

"Batman?" Oracle asked. She sounded extremely agitated.

"Yes Oracle?" he asked wearily, taping the feed up. She looked at least as bad as he felt, pale, her hair in a mess and big raccoon patches under both her eyes.

"Is Dick okay?"

Of course she looked terrible. He had forgotten to tell her, or anyone else for that matter. He covered the new wave of dizziness by grabbing the mug of tea and trying to keep guilt out of his eyes.

"Yes," he said. "He's here with us Oracle, he's going to be all right."

"Oh thank God," she said, leaving back in her chair and closing her eyes. "Is he all right?" she asked, when she opened her eyes. "God, are you all right? You look terrible."

"We'll both survive." Bruce couldn't be bothered expanding on that, mostly because several other alerts had popped up on his computer screen and he was feeling incredibly nauseous. Blockbuster too, he would have to look into that. "What do you have on the bombing?"

"Not much at this point," Barbara said. Her tone was professional again, like she'd never been shaken. "But I've got eyes all around the city, every contact I've got available is there. The radiation is making communication difficult and then obviously there's some concern about the safety of anyone who goes in. I assume you're familiar with that."

"Yes," Bruce growled. "What can I do?"

"Honestly, maybe you should just take the night off," she said. "You look like hell."

"Thank you." His voice was low and rumbling. "Have you heard from Superman?"

"Not in the last little while," she said. "He was in touch about six hours ago. He looked about as bad as you, but I'm sure he'll be on this feet again in no time. He was asking about Dick. If I can't get in touch with him, I'm sure that he'll get in touch with you. But unless you hear otherwise from him, I think you should sit the night out. I'll let you know everything that happens."

"Fine," he said. He would look into the Blockbuster situation and rest for the night. Realistically, it was all he was physically capable of anyway.

"Wow really?" Barbara asked. "You must be feeling really bad."

"I don't want to talk about it," he muttered. "Just keep me up to date on anything that's going on."

"Of course," she said. "I'll let you know when I have anything."

"Barbara," Bruce asked quickly, before she could hang up. He had to start somewhere and she was as good a place as anywhere. She and Dick were close, she probably knew him better than he did.

"Yeah?" she asked, frowning. If she thought it was weird that he was using her first name, she didn't say anything.

"Have you talked to him recently?" Bruce asked. It felt strange to be asking her, once the words were spoken out loud. Like he was prying into something personal, private that existed between this woman and his son.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Since the Blockbuster incident, have you talked to him much?" Bruce asked.

"Not really," she said reluctantly. "Whatever happened, he didn't want to talk about it but it messed him up badly Bruce. He was different with me, with everyone. And then he hired himself out as a thug? I don't know what happened, but I'm worried. I've asked him about it but we didn't part on the best terms ever and I'm not sure he really wants to talk to me. What's going on?"

"I don't know yet," Bruce said. "Thanks."

"Okay well let me know if you need anything."

"Thank you Oracle."

So Oracle didn't know either. Bruce sighed. Well, he would have to do all the ground work himself.

The soup smelled wonderful suddenly and before he could stop himself he'd swallowed a few mouthfuls. After the last of it had trickled down his throat he began to regret it as his stomach churned but he swallowed and began his research into the night that Blockbuster died.

"Well done sir," Alfred said, startling Bruce out of his daze.

"What?" he asked.

"You've eaten all of the soup I left you," he said. "Have you learned anything?"

"Lots," Bruce growled, but he didn't expand on it.

He wasn't sure he wanted to. Blockbuster had been shot and Dick had been in the building at the time. Obviously Dick hadn't shot him, Dick would never pick up a gun and fire it into someone's brain, not ever. But he must have seen whoever shot him. He must have been hurt or distracted or unable to get there in time.

Or that was what Bruce wanted to think.

But that didn't make sense either, not completely. If Dick was hurt he would have heard about it, Oracle would have mentioned it. No one was arrested at the scene, so Dick couldn't have been fighting someone else at the time. He had left on his own, he must have because there wasn't an mention of Nightwing in the police report. No, whatever happened to stop Dick it was probably his own choice.

How could he tell Alfred that?

He wished he didn't know either.

His hands started to shake. His son, his son should know better than this. He had always been very clear about things like this with Dick growing up. Witnessing a murder and not stepping into to stop it made you just as guilty as the man who pulled the trigger. How could Dick have forgotten that?

For a very short moment, some inner voice of doubt whispered "what did you do wrong?" but Bruce barely heard it.

"Is everything all right?" Alfred asked worriedly.

"I need to get dressed," Bruce declared abruptly. His mind was racing, he was lacking clarity of thought, his heartbeat was too fast and he still felt sick. Becoming Batman wouldn't change any of those things, but he was completely overwhelmed as Bruce Wayne. If he was just wearing the cowl everything would feel different. He would feel different.

"Are you going somewhere?" Alfred asked.

"I don't know yet," Bruce said. "How is he?"

"We had a rough patch a few hours ago, but I believe he's doing better," Alfred said. "Master Bruce, what's happened?"

"Nothing," he said. "I'm just restless. I might go out to stretch my legs a little, that's all."

"I see," Alfred observed rather dryly. Bruce glared at him as he pulled the cowl over his head.

He was still the same person, he was still furious and terrified and sick and tired. The Batman couldn't take that away of course, but it was comforting somehow. The lenses over his eyes, the weight of the cape, when he was wearing them he was more grounded somehow. He took a deep breath.

"I'll just go into Gotham," he said, looking at Alfred and feeling a little guilty. "Where's Tim?"

"He came in while you were asleep. He was in Bludhaven with the Birds of Prey I believe, for most of the night."

"Is he all right?"

"Yes," Alfred said. "I checked him over when he got back. He had enough sense to stay well clear of the blast zone. They're being careful."

"Good," Bruce nodded approvingly. He did not regret running into the city to find Dick of course but he certainly didn't want to Tim to have to live through radiation poisoning either. "Don't wake him. When he comes down, tell him to take the night off."

"He won't," Alfred observed.

"Try," Bruce said. "And then," he raised his hand to silence Alfred as the radio in his cowl buzzed to life.

"Superman to Batman." Clark sounded about as good as Bruce was feeling. He turned and strode away from Alfred.

"How are you doing Clark?" he growled, although that choice of words surprised him.

"I'll be fine," he answered. "You found Dick?"

"Yes."

"And he's alive?"

"Yes."

"And how are you feeling?"

"How's the city?" Bruce demanded instead of answering. Alfred, Barbara, they were human. If they saw that he was sick they would nod sympathetically and shut their mouths. Well, Alfred probably wouldn't do that, but still he would back off once he'd given Bruce everything he needed. Clark Kent with all his god like powers didn't understand illness very well. He would probably try to fix it.

"There's no one left," Clark said. "Most people have been shipped off to hospitals to treat their burns and radiation. Clean up crews are working but it'll be slow. I'm doing the best I can to help with that. All in all, the death toll will be close to a million dead, and probably another half a million who will die in the next few days."

Bruce sighed, but in the darkest corner of his heart he was surprised that so few had died, and immeasurably grateful that his son wasn't one of them. He sighed. "Clark," he said heavily. "Have you been in talking to Dick much lately?"

"What do you mean?" Clark asked, but for someone who maintained two identities, he was a terrible liar. He already knew what Bruce meant, Bruce could hear it in his voice.

"Have you been in regular communication with my son over the last few months Clark?" Bruce growled at him.

"Not as much as we used to be no," he admitted reluctantly. "Why do you ask?"

"I want to know what happened with Blockbuster," Bruce said, being extremely careful to keep his tone level and not let his anger work its way into the sentence. "Did he talk to you about it?"

"No Bruce," Clark said. "And it was after that that things got... worse with him."

"Worse how?" Bruce ground out. He had an overwhelming urge to punch something. He needed to get out of the Cave, he needed to find a few heads to knock together before he talked to Dick.

" That was about when he started working for a crime boss for one thing," Clark explained. "But he was just different. More reckless, less kind. He didn't smile as often, he started spending more time on his own. I don't know what to tell you Bruce, it was like something was eating him up inside. I tried to talk to him about it but he's a hard man to get through to sometimes. I wonder where he got that from?" Bruce clenched his teeth and started to pace towards the Batmobile. "And now you're glaring at me," Clark added.

"You've been very helpful Clark," Bruce snarled at him.

"Would you like me to come to the Cave and,"

"No," Bruce said cutting him off. The last thing he wanted now was Superman hanging around, a shiny beacon of perfection, highlighting the taint. "The city needs you more than I do."

"Right. Then I'll talk to you later."

"Great."

He could hardly think for the anger burning in his chest. Whatever Dick had done, he hadn't told anyone about it, and he'd let it drive him to recklessness and dangerous action that was risking everything. How could the boy be so foolish?

Slowly Bruce drew a steadying breath. He just needed to get out for a few minutes, clear his head, break someone else's and then he would be able to think clearly about it. Just a few minutes.

"He's awake Master Bruce."


	5. The Lost Son

**Okay, so I didn't write the conversation between Bruce and Dick 'cause someone already did. Someone much better at this then me. It's in Nightwing 118 I think, if anyone's really excited about it. **

**To summarize, Dick admitted to Bruce that he'd let Blockbuster die and Bruce accuses him of being reckless because of his guilt and admits he could probably forgive Dick, but it won't matter if Dick can't forgive himself. **

**Also, I promise they'll talk. Eventually. **

Bruce strode away from Dick, his mind ringing with the words he'd just said. He was vaguely aware of Dick throwing up behind him but he didn't turn around. Alfred would be there, Alfred would take care of his son. He would take care of some criminals on the streets.

His anger was terrifying, to himself, to Dick and if any good was going to come out of it, it had to be terrifying criminals with it.

When he got home about three in the morning, he didn't see Alfred and Dick had fallen asleep. The boy was curled up on the very edge of the bed. That wasn't a good sign. When Dick was comfortable and happy he managed to take up a whole king sized bed by himself. If he was balled up it was because he was miserable.

Bruce pulled the cowl back from his face and stood next to the boy for a minute or two, looking down at him. The burns on his face were pretty bad still, made worse by the fact that his colour underneath them was deathly white and his eyes flicking back and forth under his lids. Bruce wondered what he was dreaming about, but he guessed that it wasn't good. Bruce sighed very quietly and wondered if what he'd said had made Dick's dreams worse.

He hadn't really meant them of course. He had been angry and maybe frightened too. Frightened that he was loosing his son to that dark force that haunted him every waking moment. Frightened that Dick would have to fight against it ever waking minute the same way he did. He couldn't think of a worse fate for his son.

Of course, he would have to tell Dick that, or it wouldn't mean anything.

But the boy needed to rest and if he was being completely honest with himself Bruce still felt like weak and sick. He would talk to Dick in the morning, after a few hours of sleep.

As he undressed Alfred reappeared, looking absolutely exhausted.

"How's Dick?" he asked as he hung up his cape.

"He'll be all right," Alfred said, with a rather cool tone. Bruce didn't need to imagine what he'd done to earn Alfred's anger, but he left it that unsaid. "Yourself?"

"I'm sure I'll feel better in the morning," he said. "Will you stay with him?"

"Yes either Master Timothy and myself with stay with him in case he wakes up or needs something," Alfred assured him wearily. If Bruce had felt any less ill he probably would have worried about Alfred too, who looked so tired he might lay down on the floor and doze off. But his stomach was still twisted and the headache he'd woken up with had moved from symphony of drums to nuclear war. He didn't have the energy to worry .

"I'll see you when I wake up," he growled.

Sleep came quickly to Bruce and waking up came slowly. When he finally managed to roll himself over and squint at his clock he was surprised to learn that he'd slept for almost twelve hours. He groaned. It was so rare that he ever slept for that long he wasn't sure what to do with himself as he sat up slowly. What was even more surprising was how much better he felt.

He had a shower, got dressed and went in search of food. Suddenly he felt the last few days of barely eating because he was ravenous.

Alfred was not in the kitchen, Bruce assumed he was down in the Cave with Dick, and he obviously hadn't spent a lot of time in the shops over the last few days. There was nothing prepared but Bruce was too hungry to worry about it. He ate whatever he saw, mostly fruit and bread, without even thinking about it. It was one of the strangest meals he'd ever eaten. It wasn't until after he'd ransacked the fridge that he wondered how Dick was doing, and where Tim was and headed downstairs.

At first he thought the Cave was empty. The bed that Dick had been sleeping in was empty. Not only empty, it had been made up.

As far as Bruce was aware, Dick had never made a bed in his entire life. "Dick?" he called. "Alfred?"

"Here sir," Alfred said quietly from behind him. Bruce spun around, almost crouching defensively, the way he would in a fight. Alfred looked pale, but collected as he came around to start fussing with the nonexistent mess. He never tidied a clean space unless he was very upset about something.

"Where's Dick?" Bruce asked.

"I don't know," Alfred said. "He was gone when I woke up."

"Surely he's in no condition to on his feet?" Bruce demanded, already knowing the answer but dreading the confirmation from Alfred.

"No," Alfred agreed. "I imagine he's very much regretting his decision."

"Then he shouldn't be up!" Bruce half shouted. Alfred remained unflappable and raised an eyebrow in irritation.

"Obviously," he answered coolly. "However, I had been awake for almost thirty six hours at that point, and was close to collapse myself. Master Timothy volunteered to watch Master Richard, but when I returned he informed me that Master Richard had left us. He seemed somewhat distressed about it in fact, but was unwilling to talk to me about it."

Bruce felt like someone had just punched him the chest. It left him breathless, and his anger was suddenly gone. Of course none of this was Alfred's fault, and it certainly wasn't Tim's. If anyone was to blame, it was himself but either way, blame wouldn't bring Dick back home safely, and that had to be his first concern.

"Alfred I," he started to say, but he wasn't sure what he was apologizing for exactly. Everything? For being a terrible father when his son needed a better one? For forgetting that Alfred was human too? For shoving the burden to Tim, who was just a teenager? For failing to look down from the moral high ground and realize that his son was dying from it?

His indecision must have shown on his face because Alfred's stern look softened.

"Never mind," Alfred said. "It's done now."

Of course, Alfred didn't need apologies. He just understood. He had always just understood and Bruce could never truly pay him back for that.

"Where's Tim?" he asked.

"Working," Alfred said. "Down at the computer." Bruce nodded and turned away. "Master Bruce," Alfred added hesitantly.

"I know Alfred," Bruce said, sighing.

Tim, his younger son, in some ways the son he understood best, was sitting at the computer, scanning through at least four files on the giant screen in front of him. He was half dressed as Robin, half dressed as himself and it struck Bruce as he looked down at the boy that Tim had grown so much since he'd come into Bruce's care. When he'd turned up to rescue Batman and Nightwing in a stolen Robin costume, he'd been a child. Now looking at him Bruce thought he could see the hero Tim would become, silhouetted in his shadow. He wasn't like Dick, he wouldn't leave because of a drive to be his own man, but eventually it would happen. Eventually he'd be forced to step out of Batman's shadow and face the world as someone else.

Bruce wondered if he would handle it better than he had handled Dick's adulthood. Probably not.

"Tim," he said quietly The boy jumped and looked over at him.

There was something indescribably sad about his eyes as they met Bruce's, something crossed between fear and love and guilt. Bruce smiled at him, as reassuringly and paternal as he could manage. Tim understood the rarity of that effort though, because he smiled back.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Better," Bruce said. "You?"

"Fine," he said quickly, turning back to the computer. "I've been going over some police reports," he said, taking a small but deep breath, like he was about to launch into a long complicated story. "They're not,"

"It's all right," Bruce said, closing the space between them awkwardly and leaning against the computer console so he could look Tim in the face. "Do you know where Dick went?" Tim shook his head miserably. Well, of course he was miserable, his older brother and the only person in the world who'd ever openly shown him affection had just limped off into the day somewhere. "He didn't tell you where he was going?"

"No," Tim said. His voice went just a little flat, the way it would if he was reciting details of a case. Slow, methodical, emotionless. "I'm sorry. I tried to stop him. I really did. He looked so sick but he wouldn't listen to me. I even tried," and then he lost that practiced, professional tone, "to stop him but I think I just hurt him so I had to let him go."

"Tim, it's all right," Bruce said, clumsily reaching his hand across the space between them and setting it on the boy's shoulder. "I'm sure you did the best you could. But we do need to find him. He's still very sick. Did he say anything that would suggest where he was going?"

"I've thought about it a thousand times," Tim said. "And no. I don't think he did."

"Can you tell me what he said?" Tim looked down at his hands and crushed them both into fists before swallowing loudly and meeting Bruce's eyes again.

"He said to say he was sorry to Alfred, and thanks for saving his life. He told me that this wasn't my fault, and he'd be around if I needed him and to take care and he," Tim stopped for a second but Bruce wasn't sure why exactly. "He said he was sorry that he'd failed you so completely and he wouldn't come back until he'd made up for it."

"And you believe him?" Bruce asked Tim, knowing the answer. Of course it was possible that Dick was still running a high fever and feeling sick and confused and had said something he didn't mean, the way Bruce had not so long ago.

But Dick had believed him then and one look at Tim told Bruce that Tim had believed Dick.

"We'll find him," Bruce said, turning to face the computer and calling Oracle.

As usual, it only took her a few seconds to answer. More unusual was how she looked. Pale, maybe like she'd been crying, definitely shaken. She must have seen Dick. If something really terrible had happened, she would have told Bruce immediately, but even knowing that, Bruce's heart hammered harder.

"Hey Batman," she said, in a calm tone, despite her appearance. "Hey Tim." Tim nodded at her.

"Have you seen Dick?" Bruce asked her urgently.

"Not since early this morning," she sighed. "Very, very early." Whatever had happened, she didn't want to talk to Bruce about it, which was the opposite of what Bruce wanted but as the silence dragged out it between them it became obvious who was going to win.

"Was he all right?" Bruce asked at last.

"I don't know," she said. "He looked pretty bad, and he said some things," she trailed off nervously.

"Things?" Bruce prompted desperately.

"Things that suggested he was about to do something stupid," Barbara said. "I mean, maybe not just, I don't know, he didn't sound super hopeful, that's all."

"Did he say what? Or where he was going?" Bruce demanded.

"No," she said. "I've got all my resources looking for him, but you and I both know if he doesn't want to be found, he's probably not going to be." Bruce almost snarled. Sometimes he felt a kind of perverse pride that his son was able to break the rules the way Bruce had taught him, but right now all it did was anger him.

"We'll find him," Bruce said in a deadly soft and grim tone. "We'll find him."


	6. The Hole in the Family

**I am so very, very, very sorry this took so long to write. Life has happened to me in a big way this summer. I do promise to finish it but it'll be slower then I want it to be. I'm super, super sorry guys. **

**Hope it was worth the wait (probably not) **

Bruce found Tim asleep on the Bat computer for the fourth night that week.

Dick had been true to his word. No one could find him, not Bruce, not Barbara, not Clark but he sent an email to Tim every few days and every time he did, Tim spent the whole day and the next night trying to trace it. While Bruce appreciated the gesture he was starting to worry about the overall effects of sleep deprivation on his younger son.

He put his hand on Tim's shoulder and gently shook him awake.

"Yeah?" he asked sleepily, lifting his head off the keyboard. Bruce almost smiled at the letter prints in the side of Tim's face. "Did you hear from Dick?"

"No," he said. "How long as it been since you slept in a bed?" Tim shrugged.

"Depends what time it is," he answered through an enormous yawn.

"Go to bed," Bruce ordered him. "I'll finish." Tim nodded, rubbed his eyes and stood up. The poor kid looked like his head was too heavy to hold up and he was obviously straining to hide another yawn. Bruce managed a paternal, if not affectionate, smile for the boy and then turned back to his work.

It had been almost three months since Dick had left the Cave. Bruce had thought there was nothing worse than loosing his son in a city decimated by a nuclear blast, but he was wrong. Loosing his son in the world, that was much worse. If Bruce could have devoted a hundred and sixty hours a week to finding Dick it might still not be enough, but that wasn't possible. Just because he sometimes felt like his world had stopped turning didn't mean it had for anyone else.

Particularly a very violent group of human traffickers.

The computer chirped at him. He didn't mean to sound as irritated as he did when he answered. "Oracle," he said. "What have you got?"

"Nothing on Dick," she said, sighing. Bruce didn't know what had happened between them, she still didn't want to talk about it, whatever it was, but the months without speaking to him were lining her face and weighing on her shoulders. "But if you're looking for a roster of shipping schedules that probably have kidnapped children being sold into sex slavery, I might be able to help you."

Bruce didn't sigh very often, and it came out more like a growl. It would be satisfying to have that situation sorted out and there would be more time to search for Dick, but it still wasn't really what he wanted to hear.

"Good," he said. Without realizing what he was doing, Bruce's hands clenched into fists. If he couldn't find his son, he'd accept punching faces as the most reasonable substitute as he was likely to get. "Send it over."

"Have you found anything?" she asked. Bruce shook his head and she nodded, swallowing shallowly.

"No," he said. "He emailed Tim last night, but as usual he didn't leave us anything."

"But he's alive," she breathed. Bruce could see her hands shaking. "He's alive."

"Yes," Bruce agreed. And that was what mattered. Dick was good, he was one of the best, but he'd make a mistake eventually and one of them would see it. The search was exhausting but it couldn't go on forever. As long as he was alive. If he died, they could be searching for a body that would never be found. "He's alive."

She looked at him. Her eyes looked tired, a little bloodshot and Bruce wondered if she was sleeping at all. He knew he wasn't. Never mind finding the time to actually sleep, most nights it took hours for his mind to slow down enough for it to be possible. "Well that's something I guess," she said softly.

"Can you see if you can hack his message?" Bruce asked.

"I'll try," she agreed. "But he's being really careful. I doubt I'll find anything." Bruce nodded. If it wasn't so irritating he would be proud of the boy for disappearing as well as he had. "I'll talk to you later then," she said. Whatever she was going to do, it was more important than uncomfortable conversations with him.

"Thank you Oracle," he said. She smiled.

That was it, there was nothing else to add.

After a few hours of getting nowhere with finding Dick and forming a practically perfect plan to take out the traffickers the following night, Bruce dozed off.

It didn't last long of course. He wasn't sure if it was Alfred moving around the Cave or if he just woke up, but the clock pointed out that he'd only missed about fifteen minutes.

"I assume it is pointless to suggest you sleep in a bed," Alfred said. He was worried too, and it was weighing on him, his patience was shorter and his wit somewhat crueler than usual.

"Yes," Bruce growled at him.

Alfred shrugged it off and continued with whatever he was doing. Cleaning. Bruce tried not to sigh. It wasn't Alfred's fault either, none of it was, but that didn't make it any more bearable.

Bruce checked the email again. It was short. "Dear Tim, hope that this email finds you well and without any broken bones. Just wanted to let you know I'm okay, travelling at the moment, and check in on you. I know this is probably driving you crazy, but I don't want you to feel like you're alone. If you need anything reply to this email. I'll get it. Take care."

He growled at it. Alfred raised an eyebrow quizzically at him but didn't say anything. Bruce stood up slowly and walked away from the computer. There was preparation for the raids to do and sitting around waiting for something was driving him crazier. Besides which, he was tired. He couldn't tell Alfred of course but he was.

"Sir," Alfred said quietly.

"What?" Bruce asked, turning back slowly.

"One of your computer programs has turned something up," he said, frowning thoughtfully.

"Which one?" Bruce demanded, suddenly not feeling as tired as he had. Alfred didn't have a chance to answer of course, before Bruce was looking over his shoulder. "One of Dick's known aliases picked up a hit at the Chicago airport."

"Really?" Alfred said a little breathlessly. Bruce sighed too, a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "When?"

"A few days ago," Bruce said, checking the time on the data.

"Well, at least he's back in the country," Alfred said.

"Yeah," Bruce agreed. "And now we've got something we can use to track him. Why would he go to Chicago?"

"Either there's something there he wants or it was the most convenient place to fly into," Alfred said. "Given that he hasn't used any of your money, that may have been a factor."

"Probably," Bruce agreed. "In which case he probably wouldn't stay in the city for long. Where would be go?"

"I would expect back to Bludhaven," Alfred said. "For closure of some kind, if nothing else. He still has friends there too."

"You're probably right," Bruce agreed. "And he could be there by now, depending on how he was travelling."

"Yes," Alfred agreed. "I will start looking at car rentals and buses, although he'll mostly likely be too clever to leave us anything there."

"No, probably not," Bruce agreed. "But check anyway. And let Barbara know too. He might go to her first."

"Of course," Alfred agreed. "But surely, if he wants us to find him we will."

"I want to find him, whether he wants it or not," Bruce growled. "But I have to go out tonight, to handle this smuggling ring."

"Never mind," Alfred said. "Master Timothy and I can handle the search."

"Don't involve Tim yet," Bruce said. "Not until we're sure." Alfred nodded.

"Perhaps that's for the best," he agreed. "Very well then, I will track down Master Richard, while you handle the human traffickers. Would you like Tim to accompany you?"

"Only if he's awake," Bruce growled. "He hasn't been sleeping much lately."

Alfred looked like he was going to make a snide remark but decided to keep it to himself . Bruce turned away from him.

As he dressed, Bruce admitted to himself that his heart was beating faster than it should be and his chest felt strangely light, like it was easier to breath. His hands were steady, he wasn't nervous, not really but still on some basic level, some part of his brain was dashing ahead madly.

Dick would be home soon.


End file.
